Clemency
by MeeLee
Summary: It's been several months since Sasuke finally returned to Konoha, yet the only person he wants forgiveness from isn't willing to give it to him. SasuNaru one–shot.


**A/N: **My first purely SasuNaru fic. Set several years after the most recent events in the series; Sasuke and Naruto are both twenty-one. I almost kicked a little KakaIru into it too, but decided last minute that I need to relax a bit on that pairing. So SasuNaru it is.

I won't say much about the story; there's some subtle symbolism running around, and the title of "Clemency" can be taken several ways. You can do with it whatever you want. And the story is Sasuke POV, in case you can't tell. Are they OOC? Hm...possibly. It's hard to tell in this situation though, so I guess that's up to you.

As always, reviews are appreciated and flames are ignored.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto. _-MeeLee_

Clemency

**BEGIN**

I don't know why I keep coming back.

It's become habit lately, but I don't know why it started in the first place. All I know is that I pass by his window every morning on my way to the missions room—it's the only place I'm allowed to work right now, because the higher-ups are sure as hell not about to let me go on missions on my own. Not when there's still the slightest possibility that I'll disappear on them again.

I don't blame them for not trusting me. After all, I disappear from the picture for more than nine years, and then all of a sudden I turn up in Konoha again? I wouldn't trust myself either.

So I would walk by his window every morning on my way to work, and always I knew he was there. Those first few weeks, I quickened my pace and didn't dare glance at the empty glaring glass pane again, not wanting to face the fact that only a thin little partition separated me from him. Separated me from what I had always wanted.

One morning, though, things became different. I don't know what it was; the slight change in the air as summer became autumn, the faintest cooling of the wind, the pregnancy of the air that announced coming rain—I don't know, but I stopped walking. Stopped in the middle of the road, and looked up at the window.

It was empty, as usual: his apartment was dark inside. That didn't stop me though, as I turned from the road, bounding easily up a nearby tree so that soon I was settled amidst the strong branches, peering in through the window at him.

He was sleeping, as was to be expected: I'm an early riser, and he's generally not. I just sat there and stared at him, watched him as he slept, until his alarm clock rang and he began to wake. By the time his blue eyes opened, though, I'd already leaped onto the next roof, bounding quickly toward the missions room to make it to work on time.

He never saw me. And I came back the next day, and the next, and the next.

I don't know why.

We don't talk. If he sees me in the missions room—which is not often, because he prefers to come in to turn in his reports and receive his assignments during the afternoon shift, probably because he knows I only work mornings—he ignores me, lining up in the other queue no matter how long it is so that he won't have to talk to me. He turns in his report, or takes his new assignment, and leaves in a puff of smoke without even sparing a glance in my direction.

I don't blame him. I know he hates me; I know he will never forgive me for what I did. We were friends, but I betrayed him in the worst possible way: I left him, and the village. I left him for that sadistic maniac Orochimaru.

I will never forgive myself either.

It's been almost a month now since I first climbed into this tree to watch him sleep, and I've come incessantly every morning after that. He still hasn't noticed me, but that's to be expected: he may be a jounin now, but I've always been better at stealth. Even when we were younger, still innocent genin, I was always able to sneak up on him, whereas I'd receive a string of interesting profanity and a fight that I would always win.

These days, I'm lucky if I can even get a passing glance from him in the missions room or on the streets.

It's raining now, rather hard, I might add. The rain is seeping into my clothing, chilling me to the bone, running down my raven-black hair and getting in my eyes, but I say nothing and I don't move. A little rain isn't going to stop me as I watch him through his bedroom window.

He's beautiful when he sleeps. There is a certain calmness about him that never characterizes him otherwise; he is Konoha's loud-mouth ninja by day, but right now he's just another person relaxing in his sleep. He doesn't snore, hardly shifts—all good shinobi are like this—and radiates a barely-detectable aura of peace. He's grown his hair longer so that it spreads in a golden halo around his head on the white pillow, and in this light he looks almost like an angel.

I know it's him. He's the reason I dragged myself back to Konoha after all these years; he's the reason my heart hurts every time I think of those dark times with Orochimaru. Because I betrayed him—his trust, his friendship, his love—and even though I came back, I know he will never accept me again.

He only visited me once, four days after I returned to the village. He came into my prison cell, punched me across the face as hard as he could, hissed, "Don't you dare do that again, bastard," and left. He avoided me after that, even after I was released, even after I was allowed to take up residence in one of the local apartment complexes. And the sad thing is, he was my only visitor. No one else came to see me, not even Sakura—I think she's afraid of me, because whenever she sees me on the street she immediately turns around and walks the other way. I find that I envy her a bit; she is still friends with Naruto, she can talk to him about anything completely freely and candidly, he can give her a shoulder to cry on. He would never do that for me, not now.

Kakashi-sensei came to see me once, I think. I can't be exactly sure because he was in full stealth, but I'm almost certain I felt his distinct chakra signature right outside my window once. By the time I turned around, though, he was already gone.

He never came by again.

The rain is letting up. I should probably get going; it's almost time for him to wake up, and traversing rooftops damp from the rain can be a bit tricky. But I don't move, not yet, because I want to look at him one more time before I go.

My eyes sweep over the rumpled blankets, the lean arms that are now marked with scars from various dangerous missions, the characteristic whisker-like marks on his cheeks, the sharp blue eyes, the long blond hair—

Wait. Sharp blue eyes?

He's staring at me through the window, face completely expressionless, and for a moment my body turns infinitely colder than the rain. I've been caught, completely and defenselessly, spying on him. In a fucking _tree_ next to his bedroom window, no less.

Half of me instantly tells me to run, to make a break for it before I get in serious trouble. But the other half of me, the more rational side, says it's too late. He's caught me, and I should just sit here and endure it. He'll report me to the authorities, most likely, and it'll be back to prison I go. Running will only make it worse.

He seems to realize that I'm not about to disappear on him, because he gets out of bed slowly, walking over to the window and carefully sliding it open. I see him blink and wrinkle his nose slightly as the wind and the wet rain hit him head-on.

Then he just stares at me. Stares with those mesmerizing turquoise eyes for a good minute or so, seeming to want to memorize me, to drink up my entire image and imprint it into his mind forever. I stare right back, of course; I'll never have the chance to be this close to him again, I know. Where I'm going after this, I probably won't have a chance to be close to _anyone_ ever again for a very long time.

And then he speaks. I can hardly hear his voice over the pounding of the rain and the whistling of the wind, but every good shinobi knows how to lip-read so I have no problem understanding what he is saying.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

I don't trust myself to reply.

He doesn't seem surprised that I don't answer. Instead, he sighs—or at least, I think he sighs; it's hard to see through the curtain of rain that has suddenly gotten thicker for some reason—and opens the window even wider, stepping back a little into his bedroom. "Well," he says, "You coming in or not?"

I stare.

Naruto rolls his eyes. "I can't have you dying of goddamn pneumonia outside my bedroom window, Sasuke," he says, "So get your sorry ass in here before you freeze."

And because it's cold out here, and it's warm in there, and because I want this and I need this, even though it may only be for a little while…I obey, flipping down a branch and landing in a crouch on his bedroom floor. Immediately I regret it, as all the water and dirt and mud that was on me before begins to soak into the hardwood floor, and I rise, casting quickly about for a rag or something to clean up the mess, mumbling, "Sorry, I'm—"

I stop when I feel something being draped across my shoulders, and I can only stare as Naruto simply wraps the blanket more tightly about me before grabbing a towel and forcing it into my cold, clammy hand. "It's an old floor, don't worry about it," he says, not looking at me as he walks across the room, throwing open the door to the bathroom. "You need a shower," he says, "But try not to use up all the hot water."

He turns and walks toward the closed bedroom door, opening it as he says in the same neutral voice, "I'll make you some tea." He is about to go out, but pauses for a moment in the doorway. Then he turns, and for the first time his eyes lock onto mine. "After that," he says, voice softening, "We'll talk, okay?"

All of a sudden I want to cry, and I almost break down into tears right there. But I clamp down firmly on those rising emotions, knowing that there'll be a later, better time for tears, but not right now. Right now, Naruto's right: I need to clean myself up, both physically and emotionally. So all I say is, "Yeah, okay," as I head toward the bathroom. Before I close the door, though, I manage a small "Thanks." If he hears it, he gives no indication.

Once I am inside the bathroom, I lean slowly back against the counter and bury my face in the blanket, breathing in his scent. It's still warm, and I feel bad about getting it all wet, but I know he won't mind. I spend only a couple of minutes under the running water before stepping out, towelling myself dry. There is a white robe hanging inside the door and I change into it, noting how white doesn't seem to fit quite well with me anymore. Maybe soon, though, it will.

Opening the bathroom door, the first thing I hear is the faint whistling sound of hot water in a kettle. Looking down, I notice a small area of recent warmth coming from the floor right outside the bathroom door, and I know he came to check on me once while I was in the shower. Perhaps there is still hope after all.

Smiling a bit and taking a deep breath, I head toward the kitchen.

Outside, the rain has stopped.

**FINI**


End file.
